


Bruce the Babysitter

by orphan_account



Series: Family: A Different Kind of Team [5]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Babysitting, Disney movies also rock, Dr. Seuss rocks, Kiddo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce is left overnight with a 16-month old Peter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baby Days

**Author's Note:**

> When I was typing in the tags, I accidentally wrote 'Babysh*tting'. Oops. Lovely mental images there.
> 
> Bruce the Babysh*tter.
> 
> Enjoy the story! :D

“You sure about this?” Bruce asked again, glancing over at Peter.  
Steve nodded. “I trust you, so does Tony. We’ve gone over everything.”  
Bruce nodded, chewing on his lip. “I know.”  
Tony called from the door way. “Come on, Steve!”  
Steve smiled, heading towards him. “If you need anything, just call for help.”  
The door closed behind him.  
“Help.” Bruce mumbled.  
He turned and walked towards the toddler, who sat coloring. He looked up as Bruce approached. “Broos!” He squeaked, reaching for his uncle.  
He flinched away, then laughed quietly to himself and reached for Peter. “Now I`m scared of babies?”  
Peter wiggled his arms, impatient like his Dad. Bruce scooped him up and button pressed his nose. “Boop.”  
Peter giggled. “Broos!” He smacked his tiny palm on Bruce’s nose. Bruce laughed and settled himself on the sofa, Peter on his lap.  
“What are we going to do, Kiddo?” Bruce mumbled, half to himself, half to the giggling tot.  
Peter clutched at Bruce’s fingers, getting sticky webs all over his hands. “Broos!”  
Bruce chuckled, humming a line of an old song. “You and me baby, we’re stuck like glue.”  
Peter bounced his head along to the music, his tiny tongue sticking out. “Goo!”  
Bruce took Peters other hand in his own and ‘danced’ with him. “Jarvis, can you turn on some music, please?”  
Jarvis responded promptly. “As you wish, Dr. Banner.” An upbeat instrumental began to play. Bruce scooped Peter up and danced around the living room with him, making up silly lyrics to match the bouncing beat. Peter joined in, singing any and all of the words he knew.  
This continued for a few minutes, getting increasingly random. Finally, Bruce plopped back onto the sofa.  
“You bring out the best in me.” He joked to Peter, cleaning the webs off both their hands.  
The StarkPhone on the coffee table buzzed. Bruce glanced at it; it was a text from Tony.  
“How are you two?” The phone read. “We just got to cruising altitude. Forgot to say, Peter usually gets a snack before his morning nap.”  
Bruce turned back to Peter, who was chewing on the leather couch. “You hungry, Petey?”  
He lifted him and they headed for the kitchen, Bruce holding Peter’s arms and helping him move his legs. Peter bounced along, singing a wordless tune.  
“What do you want for snack, kiddo?” Bruce asked the toddler, opening the fridge and lifting him to see the high up shelves.  
Peter reached for the food. “Jus! Juuus!”  
Bruce consulted the food chart, and chose apple juice and crackers. They sat at the big dining room table and ate. Peter chatted happily, and Bruce listened to the baby talk with a smile, till his phone reminded him to put the kid down for his nap. Bruce picked him up and headed towards the nursery. Peter cuddled against his Uncle’s chest, his tiny hand feeling absentmindedly for the spot where Tony’s arch reactor would have been.  
Bruce rocked the toddler gently as he laid him in the crib. Peter was half asleep, barely shifting as he was placed on the mattress. Bruce tiptoed out of the nursery and breathed a sigh of relief. “Jarvis, please tell me if he needs anything.”  
“Of course sir.”  
Bruce nodded, and headed for his office. He sat down, read through a few pages of a lab. It occurred to him half way through the forth page that he hadn’t taken in a word of it. He sighed.  
“Is Peter okay?” He asked Jarvis, spinning his chair in circles like a little kid.  
“Peter is still sleeping, sir.”  
“Great.” He mumbled, picking up a spare book off his desk, a kids novel he had been meaning to donate to a book store, ‘The Girl with the Silver Eyes’. He got up and headed back downstairs, and sat cross legged outside the nursery. He leaned his head against the wall, sighing.  
Why was he so nervous? The answer was obvious, of course. But what could the baby do to make him mad when adults who aimed to hurt could not? Usually anyway. Babies could be annoying, but they never meant to be like that. It was just in their nature.  
It wasn’t even the first time he had babysat Peter. He often took care of his nephew, and knew how to do it too. He had taken care of other babies in the past. So why was he worried now?  
Maybe it was because he was the only one around. Thor was back in Asgard, Clint and Natasha were god knows where, and now Tony and Steve had left him in charge of their little bundle of joy while they jetted off on their ‘romantic getaway’. Great.  
“Peter it still sleeping.” Jarvis informed him.  
He glanced at the ceiling. “I didn’t ask.”  
“I assumed you were going to.”  
Bruce dropped the argument. The AI was right.  
The next half hour slunk by. He flipped through the book, not really reading. His eyelids began to droop and he was just about to go to sleep when Jarvis woke him. “Peter is awake, sir.”  
He nodded, getting to his feet. “That makes one of us.”  
Bruce pulled the door open and made a face. Peter sat was tugging at his soiled diaper, just starting to cry. Bruce dropped the book and hurried to pick him up. “Hey kiddo, s’okay.” He soothed.  
Peter continued to wail as Bruce laid him on the change table. He peeled the diaper away and did his best to keep a straight face as he dealt with the contents. Peter did not quiet , even when he was clean.  
“Come on kid.” Bruce muttered. “What’s wrong?”  
The toddler kicked and howled in response.  
Bruce headed for the elevator, carrying his noisy nephew. In the kitchen he grabbed a sippy-cup of milk for Peter and a beer for himself. It was going to be a long day.  
Peter took the cup and sucked at it, his large brown eyes staring up at Bruce. Bruce took a long sip and relaxed in the chair, staring at the ceiling tiles. “What now, kiddo? Should we get started on your first lab? Does Tony have a toddler friendly calculator for you?”  
Peter gurgled.  
Bruce stood up and took Peter, sippy-cup and all, into his arms. Together they headed for the library. It was a large room on the same floor as the nursery, with books from floor to ceiling. Steve could often be found in the fiction or art section, Bruce would occasionally reference the science books, and Clint had made himself a hide out on one of the top shelves. Tony only ever went in there when he was looking for Steve. He preferred reading from his StarkPad.  
Bruce set Peter on the colorful carpet in the kids section, and went to choose a book. He glanced over a selection of titles before settling on ‘Red Fish, Blue Fish’. He returned to Peter, who was sucking on the sippy-cup and watching his uncle.  
“Do you like this one?” He asked, crossing his legs and lifting Peter onto his lap.  
Peter grabbed at the book. “Fwish!”  
“Yeah, Red Fish.” Bruce corrected, smiling. They flipped through the book, Bruce reading and Peter drinking his milk. The Bruce got out the crayons, and they worked on drawing fish. Bruce’s was simplistic but neat. Peter’s was a blob of blue and red. Bruce made a note to show it to the Dad’s.  
“Fwish!” Peter giggled, poking a chubby finger at the drawing. Bruce smiled softly, scooping him up.  
And so the day passed slowly. They played outside, read four more books, looked at pictures, and Peter had another nap. It wasn’t till Bruce was preparing a dinner of mac ‘n’ cheese that they got another call. Bruce picked his StarkPhone up and held it between his head and shoulder, continuing to stir.  
“Hi, this is Bruce.”  
“Bruce? Hi, it’s Steve. How’s Peter?”  
Bruce glanced over to his nephew, who was playing in the playpen. “Fine, fine. I’m just getting dinner ready.”  
“Everything’s good?” Steve sounded worried.  
Bruce added a drop of milk to the pot. “Yeah. Why? Is something wrong?”  
“Nope, we’re fine. Tony, quit that.” Bruce heard Tony’s voice on the other end, but didn’t catch what he said. Steve returned. “I gotta go. Have fun!”  
Bruce rolled his eyes as the call ended.  
They ate dinner in front of the TV, watching some bouncy kids TV show with bright characters and happy music. Peter was too little to really understand it, and Bruce was too old to care about the simple and easily solvable conflict they called a plot. The TV was more or less just a background to their conversation.  
“Did you have fun today?” Bruce asked Peter. Peter nodded, mouth full of noodles.  
“Do you want to read another story before bed?” Bruce sighed internally. He had had enough Dr. Seuss to last a lifetime. Peter nodded again.  
Bruce cleaned up, smiling as he watched his nephew playing with toys. They read another book together, ‘The Lorax.’ Peter didn’t understand the story, but he liked the bright pictures. He was almost asleep by the end, and it only took the short walk to the nursery for him to be completely passed out. Bruce laid him in the crib, smiled. Peter was almost 16 months old, but still smaller than most kids his age. His chocolate brown hair was mussed, his eyelashes fluttering in his sleep. Bruce smiled to himself as he tiptoed from the room.  
He was awoken at 7:24 the next morning by Jarvis. “Sir? Peter is awake.”  
He yawned and stretched, running a hand through his hair and pushing the blankets back. The sun was already high in the sky, shedding light on the whole room. He threw a shirt on and did his best to soothe his bed head, then headed up to the nursery. Peter was sitting in the crib, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Bruce cleaned him up and dressed him in a fresh onesie, the headed for the kitchen. With Peter straddling his hip, he began to make them both oatmeal.  
“We’re hooooome!”  
Bruce almost dropped Peter, turning to see Tony coming out of the elevator, wearing a business suit and dark glasses. Steve followed, looking tired. Peter wiggled in his uncles arms.  
“Dada! Papa! Dada!” Peter cried, squirming to be put down. Bruce set him on the ground and Tony picked his son up, spinning him around and hugging him.  
“I thought you weren’t getting in till two?” Bruce questioned, returning to the stove.  
Steve smiled apologetically. “We missed Peter.”  
Bruce nodded, wondering if that was the only reason. “Well, he missed you.”  
Tony passed Peter to Steve. “I’m off to the lab. Bye kiddo.”  
Steve hugged Peter close, kissing his brown curls. Peter gave his uncle a toothy grin from within his Poppa’s arms.  
Bruce shut the stove off and walked over to them, shoving his hands in his pockets, as if he feared to touch the boy he had cared for.  
Steve loosened his grip on Peter and smiled at Bruce. “Thanks.”  
Bruce extracted a hand from his pocket and mussed the toddlers brown locks. “Don’t mention it.”


	2. Babysitting Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is on a mission: Babysit Peter Stark-Rogers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about kids, sorry.

Bruce stood in the main elevator of the Stark-Rogers mansion, watching the floors tick by. He was carrying only a simple brown brief case, and dressed in his usual loose fitting clothing. The elevator stopped on the 11th floor, the main floor. The door slid open, and he was immediately ambushed by Peter, who squeezed through the doors and leaped towards his Uncle.   
“Hey kid. How’s my favorite nephew?” He asked, wrapping his arms around him. “Where’s your Poppa?”  
Peter pulled away from the hug, as bouncy as any almost five year old, if not more so. “He’s upstairs! He told me not to help him pack ‘cause I kept forgetting stuff.” Peter snatched at Bruce’s bag, pulling it towards the hallway that lead to Bruce’s room and office. The Avengers all lived in their own homes now, after several months of begging from Tony, but they each had separate guest suites in the Stark-Rogers mansion, just in case.  
Bruce took the bag and together they entered the clean but slightly lonely room. “How’s pre-school, kiddo?”  
Peter pulled himself onto the bed, kicking his toes. “Good! I can spell my full name now!” He demonstrated. “ P-E-T-E-R space S-T-A-R-K hyphen R-O-G-E-R-S!”  
Bruce smiled, sliding his bag against the dresser and joining the boy on the edge of the bed. “Wow. What are the other kids like?”  
Peter leaned his head against his Bruce’s shoulder. “Nice-ish. I have two friends, Jamie and Kevin. Jamie ate a worm! She said so! And Kevin has three dogs! I asked daddy if we could get a dog, but he said no.” Peter frowned for a moment, then grinned again bouncing off the bed. “Poppa! Uncle Bruce is here!”  
Steve, who had just poked his head through the open door smiled at the two of them. “So I see. Hi, Bruce.”  
Bruce smiled back. “Peter was just telling me about school.”  
Steve nodded, scooping his son up. “Yeah, he’s really liking it.” He tickled Peter’s belly, grinning. Peter giggled and squirmed. “You looking forward to your sleepover with Uncle Bruce?” He asked the boy.  
Peter nodded, gasping for breath between giggles. “Yup! Hey Uncle Bruce, you wanna watch ‘Treasure Planet’?”  
Bruce stood up, and walked over to the two of them. “Sure.”  
Peter squirmed out of his Poppa’s arms and scampered down the hallway. “I’ll get it!”  
Steve sighed, watching Peter’s escape. “No running!” He reminded, then turned to Bruce. “How was your trip?”   
Bruce glanced around, bobbing his head and jamming his hands in his pockets. “Good. How are you?”  
“We’re good. Sorry about the short notice. Tony had to leave early, and I’ve had this art-gallery thing planned forever…” He trailed off.  
“It’s no problem. I haven’t seen Peter in a while; it’ll be nice to catch up.”  
Steve nodded, then glanced at his watch. “Well, I should be going.” He headed out the door just as Peter speed walked back in, narrowly avoiding a collision. “Woah! Eyes on the road, Peter.” He knelt down and hugged his son. “I have to go now, but Uncle Bruce will take care of you. Listen to him, okay?”  
Peter nodded against Steve’s shoulder. “’K, Poppa.”  
Steve kissed the brown curls. “Be good.”  
Peter nodded again, squirming a bit. “I am.”  
Steve chuckled and headed out the door. “Have fun, you two.”  
The moment the door closed, Peter grinned, holding up the ‘Treasure Island’ DVD case for Bruce’s inspection. “Look!”  
Bruce took it and glanced over it. “Looks good. How about we watch it tonight, when dinner’s made and all your chores are done.”  
Peter agreed, and they put the case on the coffee table for later.   
“So.” Bruce began, as they sat at the dinner table. “Do you have any homework?”  
“Nope.”  
“Are you hungry?”  
“Nah.”  
“Do you want to do some science?” He smiled as Peter’s face lit up. “Your Dad said you got a microscope.”  
And so Bruce was dragged off to Peter’s room, and together they closely inspected anything they could get their hands on under the microscope. The page of a picture book proved to be an amazing world of colored dots, and a dead fly turned into a work of art when stared at through the high tech contraption. Bruce got his briefcase, which was full of fun things for a five year old to examine and dissect: An owl pellet, some slides, some common fossils. Bruce watched his nephew learn, smiling and nodding at each new discovery. This kept him entertained for almost half an hour.  
He was halfway through dissecting the owl pellet when he grew bored. “Uncle Bruuuuuce…” He whined, laying the scalpel down and turning to Bruce, who was watching. “I’m bored.”  
“I’ve got a few more samples in my bag, if you want to-,”  
“Nah.” Peter pushed his chair back and hopped out. Bruce caught him gently by the arm.  
“Peter.” He gave the boy a stern look.  
Peter glanced up, confused, then shifted his gaze to stare at his toes. “Sorry...”  
Bruce prompted him, careful to keep his grasp loose. He was putting on a stern face to discipline Peter, but he wasn’t actually mad at him. “Sorry for…?”  
Peter bit his lip. “For interrupting you.”  
Bruce nodded, letting go. Peter stood, staring at the ground. Finally, he squeaked. “Are you mad?”  
Bruce slid off his seat and crouched in front of the boy. He sensed something behind Peter’s question, and in the way he seemed to shrink away from him. “No kiddo. I’m fine.”  
Peter nodded. “Okay.”  
Bruce stood, and reached for the tiny hand. “Did your Daddies ask you to ask me?”  
It slid into his grip, and he gently squeezed the tiny fingers. “Yeah.”  
Bruce felt Peter’s eyes on him, examining him. He smiled at the boy. “Good. You know what to do if I do get mad?”  
Peter paused. “Run?”  
“That’s right.” Bruce nodded. “Run and get to shelter. As far away as you can.”  
“Okay.”  
Bruce tried to lighten the mood. “You want to go swimming?”  
Peter nodded and released Bruce’s hand. “I gotta get changed!” He squeaked, scampering off for his closet.  
“Meet me by the pool in five minutes!” Bruce called, then headed for his own room.

***

Peter was ready in three, and raced towards the elevator. He was wearing his favorite Ironman swim trunks, and clutching his Captain America beach towel. He stood as high as he could on his tippy-toes, and could just barely tap the button for the elevator. The doors open promptly, and he paused, glancing around for Uncle Bruce. When he didn’t see him, he hurried to his room. The door was shut.  
“Uncle Bruce?” He called, a hand on the door.  
“Just a sec!” His uncle responded. The door swung open, Peter toppled onto the floor.  
“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked, glancing around for signs of danger as he helped him to his feet.  
“You didn’t say what pool to go to.” Peter peeped, tilting his neck to stare at his Uncle. Bruce was shorter than the rest of the Avengers, except maybe Uncle Clint, but Peter was even shorter.  
Bruce sighed, and turned to get his towel off the bed. It was plain white. His swim trunks were plain black. Peter sighed too. Adults just didn’t understand how to dress.  
“How many pools do you have?” Bruce asked as they walked to the elevator, still waiting for them.  
Peter counted on his fingers. “Five. No wait, six.”  
Bruce mussed his hair as they boarded the elevator. “I hope you know how lucky you are, Petey.”  
Bruce lifted Peter so he could press the floor fifteen button, the rooftop garden.  
The elevator began to ascend. Uncle Bruce took his hand. “You just might be.”  
They stepped out onto the roof. Peter blinked at the sudden brightness, then hurried to the luxurious multi-level pool and dropped his towel, leaping straight in. The water was warm from the sun and sparkling. He splashed at his Uncle, who was putting both their towels on a pool chair.  
“Come in!” He giggled; lying in a starfish shape like Poppa had taught him.  
Uncle Bruce smiled and walked to the edge of the pool. He dipped his toes in the water, sitting at the poolside. “I don’t know…” He pondered, a slight edge of tease in his voice.  
Peter swam to the edge and clung on with his tiny fingers. “You said you would!” He whined.  
“Did I?” Bruce asked, raising his eyebrows at Peter.  
“You promised!”  
Bruce shrugged. “Well, I guess I have to then. A promise is a promise.” He began to slide into the water.  
Peter absentmindedly scratched the back of his neck, where it itched.  
And suddenly, the world exploded.  
At least that was what it seemed like to Peter. One second, they were happily swimming. The next, he wasn’t sure which way was up and which was down. He was screaming, his lungs filling with water. He saw, through his eyes clouded with water, that fire rained from the sky.  
All this happened in a second. In the next second, he was bobbing to the surface, clutching the edge of the pool and coughing the air from his lungs. Explosions rocked the mansion, the water in the pool splashed like the ocean all around Peter, trying to drag him back. He cried out for Uncle Bruce.  
Almost at once, he felt someone grab his arm and wrench upwards. He screamed again, it hurt worse than anything he had ever felt. He was jerked upwards and dropped on the concrete. It hurt so much he could barely cry.  
A voice, deep and scary and right behind him, growled. “Get out. Run.”  
He could barely stand, but looked behind him. He choked on air. The huge person that stood in front of him was not Uncle Bruce. This person was like a giant, with huge muscles under bright green skin. It bellowed, and leaped towards one of the attacking planes. Peter whimpered, scooting away from the pool and under the nearest table. His arm didn’t seem to be working right, but the pain was going away. He touched his elbow and was surprised to find it covered in blood. Tears ran down his cheeks.  
A huge crash made him look up. The green monster, The Hulk, was crouching in a hole in the ground. He turned his head to Peter, teeth bared. Peter couldn’t even scream.  
“Go! Run!” The Hulk roared at him. He nodded, backing as fast as he could to the elevator. The doors were jammed open, the vessel itself was gone. Peter could barely see through the tears gushing down his face. He glanced back at The Hulk, the only hero who could help him. He was leaping away, his huge mass smashing into one of the planes.   
“The elevator isn’t working.” He told himself, trying to calm down. “Neither is your arm. You need to get down. Uncle Bruce is busy.” He bit his lip as he walked to the edge of the roof and peeked over the edge.  
Fifteen floors was very high up.   
He concentrated, staring at his uninjured hand. He could make them sticky; his Daddies said that was what made him special. That could help him crawl down the glass wall.  
He turned his focus to his wrist, experimentally making it ooze spider goo. He lifted his arm to his chest, trying not to cry from the pain, and shot the goo at it, sticking it to himself. Then he shot a string at the fence around the roof, then scrambled over it, braced himself, and began to descend.  
He stuck his feet to the reflective glass, and used the strand attached to the roof to inch slowly downwards. He had chosen a side of the building that did not overlook the ocean, so his landing would be on grass.  
He tried not to whimper as he crawled down the wall. His terror increased when a huge, icy blast of wind left him swinging from the thin strand of spider web. He struggled to stick his bare feet to the wall, fighting off panic. He glanced up. He had barely gone ten feet. Every part of him hurt.  
A familiar sound made him turn, doing his best not to look down. Speeding towards him and growing ever bigger, was his Dad. He cried out.  
“Daddy!”  
The strong metal arms closed around him, the mask slid away, revealing the panic stricken face of Tony Stark. He kissed Peter, hugging him close. Peter felt the edges of reality fading as he began to go unconscious.  
“No, Petey, wake up.” His Dad’s voice urged him. “I need you to hold very tight onto me for a bit, can you do that?”  
Peter did not reply, but clung to the armor.  
“Don’t let go.” Daddy instructed, flying away from the tower. “Don’t look down.”  
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the suit, which wobbled. Without the flight stabilizers on the hands, the ride would be rocky.  
“Don’t worry, Baby. We’re almost there.”  
He felt his Dad land, and snuck a peek through his eyelids. They were at shield. He could hear the armor disassembling, and felt the whisper in his ear.  
“You can go to sleep now, sweetie.”  
And he did.

***

Peter blinked his eyes open, waking suddenly. He was lying in a very warm and comfortable bed, propped up on pillows. The room smelled slightly medicine-ish, but seemed warm and friendly. He could see balloons.  
“Hey, Pete.” A hand, big and strong, took his and squeezed it gently. His Poppa.  
“My arm hurts.” He commented, trying to move it.  
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and glanced over to see his Dad, sitting next to him on the other side. “Don’t try to move it. It’s hurt pretty bad.”  
He stared at the cast. “Is it broken?”  
Poppa glanced at Daddy. “Yes.”  
“Can they fix it?”  
Daddy chuckled and leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Don’t worry, kiddo. It’ll get better.”  
He nodded, and coughed. Poppa handed him a glass of water, and he took a sip. “Is Uncle Bruce okay?”  
“He’ll be fine. He wants to say sorry.” Poppa replied, taking Peter’s hand again.  
Peter took another sip. “Sorry for what?”  
Daddy nodded to Poppa, and they stood.  
“We’ll let him explain.” Daddy said as they headed for the door.   
The door closed behind them. Peter heard a whispered conversation before it opened again and Uncle Bruce entered.  
He looked sad. He walked in and sat down, not talking. He held his head in his hands, elbows on his knees.  
“I’m sorry, Petey.”  
Peter scooted closer to Uncle Bruce on the bed. “What for?”  
“I…” The man’s shoulders shook, his voice came through sobs. “…Could have…killed you.”  
Peter reached a hand out to touch him. His uncle flinched away at first, then took the hand that was offered. He looked up at Peter.  
“It’s my fault your arm got broken. It could have been worse.”  
“It wasn’t you. It was…” He wracked his mind for the name his Dads used. “…The Other Guy.”  
Uncle Bruce sighed. “It’s more than that, Peter. I’m dangerous.”   
“You saved me!” Peter squeaked, giving the hand he held a squeeze.  
Bruce squeezed back, a bit harder then he usually would. “I should have stayed with you. I just…” He trailed off, then corrected himself. “He just didn’t let me.”  
Peter wiggled out of the blankets and scrambled onto his Uncle’s lap. He pressed his face into the soft fabric, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Don’t go.”  
Bruce paused, then hugged him back. “I won’t.”  
They stayed like that for a moment, then broke apart.   
“So…” Bruce smiled and reached into the pocket on his jacket, pulling out a disc. “…You want to watch ‘Treasure Planet’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments, I love to read them.


	3. Cuddle Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce babysits a sick teen aged Peter, and Wade sneaks a visit to see his sick boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just saying, I know nothing about Deadpool, except what I read in fanfictions.

Bruce felt Peter’s forehead. It was warm to the touch, but not alarming. The boy was sleeping, wrapped in layer after layer of blankets and shivering.  
“Probably just a virus.” Bruce reassured Tony, who was standing in the doorway. “Has he been coughing?”  
Tony nodded. “Steve was the one watching him, but I could hear it from the workshop.”  
Bruce pulled a chair up beside the bed and took a seat. “And you want me to…babysit him? Tony, he’s 16. I think he can handle a cold.”  
The billionaire glanced at his watch. “Steve was going to, but something came up. I can’t catch his cold; I have a big project to finish. And…” He trailed off.  
“You don’t want him to get to much ‘exercise’ while he’s sick?”  
Tony nodded, sighing. “We love that he wants to be involved, but it’s getting so we can hardly keep him in. He’s doing really well, but we…want him to take it easy for a few days.”  
“So…what? Lock the windows, and make him chicken soup?”  
“Is that too much to ask?”  
Bruce glanced at Peter. “Not really, I guess.”  
Tony grinned. “Thanks.” He was halfway out the door when he paused. “Oh, and don’t let Wade in.”  
“Wade?” Bruce nodded. “I thought you were okay with…them.”  
“We are. Sort of. But Peter should be resting.”  
Bruce nodded. “Got it.”  
“I’ll be back by nine.” Tony added as he hurried out the door.  
“You’re welcome!” Bruce called after him. He heard no response.  
He sighed again, and went to secure the bedroom window. He had been mostly kidding, but he wasn’t sure if Tony was. Or how determined Deadpool would be to see his bedridden boyfriend.  
“Bruce…?”  
The mumbled came from the bed. Peter was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. His voice was croaky and weak.   
“Where’d Pop go?”  
Bruce returned to his seat. “Off being Captain America. And your Dad went to the office.”  
Peter flopped back on the pillows. “I feel rotten.” He groaned.  
“I know. How long have you had the cold?” Bruce inquired.   
“Uh…I started feeling sick…last night.” Peter said, rubbing his temples.  
Bruce passed him the thermometer that lay on the bedside table. “Do you want some soup?”  
Peter nodded, sticking it in his mouth. “Chicken, please.” He mumbled.  
Bruce got up, glancing at the window. “I’ll be back in a bit. Stay here.”  
He was back in ten minutes, holding a tray loaded with a bowl of soup, a hot cup of tea, a bottle of cough syrup and a damp face cloth. He paused for a moment before opening the door, taking a deep breath. Bracing himself for whatever might have happened while he was gone.   
He nudged the door open, expecting the worst.  
“Uncle Bruce?” Peter was still lying in bed, curled up in a ball. Bruce breathed a sigh of relief.  
“Yeah, kiddo?”  
“102.” Peter croaked, laying the thermometer back on the side table. “That the soup?”  
Bruce nodded, setting the tray down on the chair and handing Peter the bowl. Peter cradled it in his hands. “Thanks.”  
“No problem.” Bruce mumbled, feeling the boy’s forehead, then laying the cloth on it. Peter sighed with relief. “Need anything else?”  
“Uh…can I watch a movie?” Peter asked weakly, scooping up a spoonful of noodles and meat.  
“Sure.” Bruce glanced around for a remote, but Peter croaked towards the ceiling.  
“Jarvis, play…uh… ‘The Goonies’.”  
“Of course, sir.” The AI responded promptly. A panel in the wall at the other end of the bed slid away, revealing a flat screen that was already switching itself on.  
“Sit up; I’ll fix your pillows.” Bruce instructed. Peter obeyed wordlessly, blowing on the soup. Bruce propped the pillows up. “Lean back.”  
“Thanks.” Peter did as he was told.  
Bruce glanced around. “I’m going to get some work done. Get Jarvis to call me if you need anything.” He paused, then bent over and kissed Peter’s fevered brow, like he had when Peter was a kid. “Try to get some rest.”  
Peter smiled at his uncle. “Thanks.”  
***  
Peter was awoken a few hours later by a violent coughing fit. He reached for the tea, which was now cool, and took a sip.  
“Hey, Babe.”  
His head shot up, making him dizzy. “Wade?”  
His boyfriend was perched on the edge of the bed, wearing his full costume. An array of weapons had been dumped on the desk, muddy footprints trailed across the room, starting at the now open window.  
“How…” Peter adjusted his position, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “How did you get in here?”  
Wade chose not give the obvious answer to the question. “You sick?”  
Peter coughed. “Yeah.”  
“Aw.” Wade stood and peeled back the covers, sliding in beside him. Peter did his best to make room, it was a small bed. Wade’s arms slid around him, holding him tight. The cool fabric of the suit felt soothing on his hot skin. He began to doze, wrapped in his boyfriend’s embrace.  
“Uncle Bruce!” He coughed, jolting suddenly awake.  
Jarvis’s voice came through the sound system. “Would you like me to contact your uncle, sir?”  
“No, god, no.” Peter muttered, sitting up. Wade pulled his arms away.   
“He’s here?”  
Peter ignored him. “Jarvis, have you told Uncle Bruce about Wade?”  
“No, sir.” Jarvis replied, hesitantly. “You told me not-,”  
“Great, good, wonderful.” Peter stifled a cough. “Don’t let him come up here, but don’t let him know that you’re trying not to let him come up here.”  
Jarvis paused. “Of…course, sir.”  
Wade was already at the desk, shoving his weapons back into their sheaths. “You could have told me!” He muttered.  
Peter glanced at the muddy floor, covered in foot prints. “Uhhhh…Jarvis, can you do something about these?”  
A cleaning arm slid out from the wall and began to mop up the mud. Peter sighed and followed Wade to the window.  
“See you later?” He asked, taking Wade’s arm.  
Wade gave him a quick kiss before heading out the window. “Sure.”  
Peter closed and locked the window, still not entirely sure how Wade had gotten in, and headed back for bed.  
***  
“Knock knock.” Bruce called softly from outside Peter’s room. It was well past the time he had chosen to check on Peter. He had fallen asleep on the couch.  
He heard no noise from within, and quietly opened the door. Peter was fast asleep on top of the covers, curled up for warmth. He opened his eyes as the door opened. “Hmmm…?”  
“Sorry to wake you, kiddo.” Bruce picked the thermometer up and sat down next to his nephew, who sat up, pulling the messy blankets around him. They checked his temperature, no change.  
“How you feeling?”  
“I want to die.” Peter croaked. He slid his legs off the bed, gathered his strength and stood, muttering. “Bathroom.”  
As Peter headed into the small room connected to his own, Bruce began to fix the bed. He folded the sheets back and paused. There was dirt on the fabric, stuck to it, like mud that had recently dried.   
“Peter?” He called.  
Peter’s muffled voice came from the washroom. “I’m busy.”  
Bruce took deep breath, glancing around for the blue and red suit his nephew usually wore to fight crime in. He didn’t see it. Another breath. It was wrong to jump to conclusions.  
Peter came out the door, holding a toothbrush. “What did you need?”  
Bruce beckoned him over, and pointed at the grime on the sheet. “Is this mud?”  
“I…” Peter’s knuckles where white on the handle of the brush.  
“Is it? Did you go out?” Bruce pressed, trying to remain completely calm.  
Peter sat down on the mattress. “Well, no. But…” He paused. “Wade came over.”  
Bruce nodded, squeezing his hand in and out of fists. “And?”  
“Nothing, honestly. I didn’t invite him, he just snuck in. I woke up and he was snuggling me. No big deal.” Peter stared at the brush in his hand.  
Bruce exhaled.  
“Are you mad?” Peter asked, repeating the same question he had asked so long ago. Bruce still remembered it perfectly.  
“It wasn’t your fault.” Bruce sighed. “Finish your teeth. You need anything?”  
Peter relaxed with a breath of relief. “Um…could you, you know, not tell my dad’s about this?”  
Bruce nodded. “Sure. Okay. If you promise to stay in bed till they get home.”  
“Thanks. They wouldn’t be happy about it.”  
Peter stood and headed for the bathroom; Bruce brushed the dirt from the bed, then finished making it and folded the covers back.  
“You sure you don’t want anything to eat? It’s almost dinner time.” Bruce questioned as he tucked Peter in. “Maybe some soup?”  
Peter coughed. “I have soup coming out my ears. Can I have pizza?”  
Bruce smiled. “Sure.”  
They ordered pizza, and together they finished the whole thing. Peter was even feeling well enough to eat at the dinner table and talk to his uncle. They chatted till Steve came into the living room, in full uniform and looking exhausted.  
Steve smiled and sat down next to his son. “How you doing, kiddo?”  
Peter smiled and leaned against Steve’s shoulder. “Better. Tired.”  
Steve wrapped his arm around Peter and gave him a squeeze. “Go get some rest.”  
Peter nodded and left to go to bed. As soon as he was in the elevator, Steve turned to Bruce.  
“Tony told me he warned you. Was everything okay?”  
“It was fine. He slept the whole day.”  
“And Wade stayed away?”  
“He must have heard that I was babysitting.” Bruce joked.  
Steve sighed with relief. “Great. Thank you.”  
Bruce smiled. “No problem.”


	4. We All Have Bad Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With great power come great responsibility, and stuff like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to 'thetroublemaker' for the idea. You defiantly stirred up some trouble ;)
> 
> And here are your fries.

“It’s not fair!”

Bruce glanced up from the papers he was studying as his nephew burst into the room. He barely had time to set them down before Peter threw himself into his lap, crying.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked, hardly surprised. The Stark-Rogers mansion had enough drama on a daily basis to fill a soap opera. Recently, he recalled, Peter had been getting upset that his Dads didn’t consider him old enough to take part in the avenger’s battles.

“Poppa won’t let me come with him! He never lets me come with him!” Peter sobbed, curling up against Bruce and sobbing.

Bruce was hesitant to comfort the boy. He was never quite sure whether or not to be strict. If this was a temper tantrum, Peter should be having a time out, not getting special treatment. “Your Poppa won’t let you come on patrol with him?”

Peter nodded and sniffled, using his sleeve to wipe his nose. Bruce handed him a tissue.

“And you made a big fuss about it, even though you know that patrol is very dangerous?”

“I didn’t make a fuss!” Peter cried, squirming.

“If your going to kick me, you can get off my lap. You know you aren’t allowed to go on patrol till you turn 15.” Bruce reminded him quietly.

Peter calmed down, sitting quietly in Bruce’s lap and used the tissue to clean his tear stained face. He was almost too big to sit on laps, despite being smaller than average 9 year olds.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Bruce.” He mumbled.

“S’okay. Just remember to apologize to your Poppa, okay?”

“’K.” Peter nodded against Bruce’s shoulder. “When is he going to be ho-,”

Jarvis interrupted. “Mr. Rogers is requesting the assistance of all available avengers. The Quinjet is ready and waiting on the roof.”

Bruce stood up quickly, Peter almost fell but managed to catch himself.

“Uncle Bruce!” He squeaked, following him out the door and towards the elevator. “Can I come? I just want to watc-,”

Bruce cut him off. “No, Peter. Go wait in your room.”

Peter whined, grabbing for his uncles sleeve. “But…”

“No!” Bruce shook him off, speeding up.

“I wanna go!” Peter cried. “I can help!”

“NO!” Bruce roared, spinning around. His arm, the arm that Peter had grabbed hold of, shot out. It made contact with the side of the boys head, making him fall. He looked shocked, sitting sprawled on the ground.

“Go to your room!” He ordered, trying to keep his temper down. Not till he was outside, not till he reached the battle. Not till he had the others to control him.

Peter made no attempt to argue this time, scampering towards his bedroom. Bruce turned back to the elevator, trying not to think about the terrified expression on Peter’s face.

***

Peter was in his room, reading on his bed. His cheek still hurt from where his Uncle had hit him. Pepper had showed up less than five minutes after Uncle Bruce had left, and had assured him that the smack had been an accident, that Uncle Bruce had been in a hurry, and that he would apologize as soon as he got home. Peter’s cheek still hurt, though. 

He heard knock on his door, and looked up to see Bruce poking his head through the door. He was dressed in different clothing now, Peter knew that meant that he had had to transform.

“Can I come in?”

Peter looked away, turning his back to him. He heard the door open all the way, and soft footprints on the carpet. A hand on his shoulder.

“Go away!” Peter squeaked, hugging tight to his Captain America plushie. “I hate you!”

The hand withdrew. He expected his uncle to speak to him, but instead heard the footsteps retreat. The door shut.

He looked around. The room was empty.

Somehow, he felt even worse.

***

“Did you talk to him?”

Bruce looked at Tony, who was leaning against Steve’s shoulder as they sat on the couch.

“He didn’t want to.”

Tony glanced up. “So? You still need to apologize.”

Bruce sighed. “I’m…going to bed.”

Steve turned to look at him. “We haven't eaten yet.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Steve half rose from the couch. “You should still eat-,”

“No, thank you.” Bruce enunciated clearly, heading for his room.

Steve sunk back into the couch with a sigh. They were silent for a few minutes.

“It’s stupid.” Tony burst out, setting his drink none to gently on the coffee table. “They’re acting like children.”

Steve reached for his arm. “Peter is a child.”

“We raised him better than this! And Bruce is an adult, he should act like one!” Tony stood, heading in the direction of Bruce’s room.

“Tony!” Steve jumped up and reached for his husband, grabbing his shoulder. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not being stupid, they are!” Tony shrugged Steve off and continued walking.

“Be careful!” Steve called after him, making no attempt to follow.

Tony stood at Bruce’s door for a moment, doing his best to calm himself. Then he knocked.

“Bruce?”

He heard Bruce’s voice on the other side, laced with anger. “What?”

“You need to talk to Peter.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Stark.” Bruce growled. Tony took a step back, half wishing he was wearing his suit. 

“Fine. Could you please open the door?”

The door was wrenched open, Bruce glared at him. 

“You need to talk to Peter.” Tony repeated, staring back at him.

“I’m not just another one of your servants, don’t treat me like one.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to just let it slide that you physically assaulted my child?” Tony did his best to keep his anger out of his voice.

“I didn’t mean to!” Bruce bellowed. A speck of spittle hit Tony’s cheek, he winced.

“So tell him it was an accident.” 

“He said he hates me.” Bruce sighed, visibly sagging. He turned and sunk onto the bed, head in his hands.

Tony did his best not to chuckle, feeling that might not help matters. “He’s told me he hates me 3 times in the last week. Once when I made him do his homework, once for not letting him stay up late, and once when I wouldn’t get him a horse. Kids say that, Bruce.”

“How do you know when he really means it?” Bruce asked, a note of desperation in his tired voice.

Tony sat down next to him, glancing around the sparsely furnished room.

“Honestly, I don’t think he even knows when he means it.The important thing is changing his mind. But believe me, it’s easier now then later.”

Bruce nodded, but did not stand. “I…I just…I’m always so scared. Of hurting him, of hurting any of you. Wouldn’t it be better, safer, if I just left?”

“Better for who? Him? He needs you, no matter what he says, he loves you. The team? We work together, and trust me, I know it’s hard. But you’re important, Bruce.”

Bruce said nothing.

“Would it be better for you? Off in some distant country, being a hermit in the middle of nowhere?”

“Being a doctor.” Bruce mumbled. “Helping people.” 

“What do you call what you did today, then? You think that wasn't helping?” Tony voice rose. “You saved hundreds of people-,”

“I'VE KILLED!” Bruce roared, jumping up suddenly. “HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE! WITH FAMILIES! AND LIVES!”

He buried his fist into the bed covers. Tony leapt away from him.

“I'VE DESTROYED THEIR FAMILIES! THE WORLD IS NO BETTER WITH ME AROUND, AND NEITHER IS PETER!” Tears were streaming down Bruce’s face, as he ranted.

Steve burst through the door, looking panicked. “Bruce!”

“Shut up!” Tony yelled across the room at him.

They both stood silent, watching as Bruce sunk to his knees on the floor, still crying. 

“I’m sorry.” He muttered through his tears.

Tony made a motion for Steve to leave, and joined Bruce on the carpet.

“Bruce, there are always going to be deaths. Our actions are never without consequences. You have the power to hurt, you also have the power to help.”

Bruce’s shoulders were shaking, his sobs almost silent.

“You just have to remember to do more good than bad. And you do, not just as The Hulk. You have an amazing mind, you’ve helped so many people with your ideas and work.” The words felt cheesy on Tony’s lips, more suited to someone like Steve.

Bruce nodded silently.

“Will you talk to Peter?” Tony asked again.

Bruce stood slowly, weakly. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

Tony sighed inwardly, also rising. “Alright.”

He left Bruce alone and headed back to the living room. Steve was sitting on the couch, looking slightly nervous. Peter was curled against him, shaking.

“Everything alright?” Steve asked as Tony joined them.

“He doesn’t want to talk right now.” Tony sighed, pulling Peter into a hug. “You okay, Kiddo?”

Peter nodded. “Is Uncle Bruce okay?”

“He’s upset that you don’t love him.”

Peter flushed. “But he hit me!”

Steve gave Tony a look, then turned his attention to Peter. “The lord’s prayer says we should ‘forgive those who trespass-,”

“Screw that.” Tony interrupted. “We say you shouldn’t have been whining about going on patrol.” 

“Tony!” Steve scolded.

“It’s not fair!” Peter cried. 

“Here we go again.” Tony muttered, reaching for his forgotten drink.

Steve sighed, rubbing his temples. “Petey, why don’t we get started on making dinner. We can get back to this later.”

“No!” Peter wailed. “I hate you all! I’m not hungry!”

He pushed away from both his fathers, and raced for his room.

“I feel like I’ve heard that before.” Tony murmured, taking a long sip of the amber liquid.

“You could have helped!” Steve scolded. 

“I dealt with one of them!” Tony defended.

“You only made things worse!”

“Oh, don’t you start.” Tony yawned, standing. “Goodnight.”

He headed towards the workshop, ignoring the faint rumblings of his stomach.

***

Why was he on the floor?

Bruce felt awful. His head hurt, all of his body was stiff. He pulled himself into a sitting position, glancing around his room, the one in the Stark-Rogers house. The bed was messed up, the sheets hanging off the side he had been laying next to. He guessed he had fallen off sometime in the night.

What time was it?

His watch said 10:53. He groaned. Peter would already be long gone to school.

It took him only a few moments to dress, cursing himself for not waking up in time. This would only make things worse. When he was ready, he headed for the kitchen. He was halfway through a bowl of raisin-bran when the elevator doors opened, revealing Tony and Peter. 

“Bruce!” Tony sounded grumpy, a normal thing at this time of morning. “Is Steve home yet?”

“No.” Bruce set his spoon down. “Something wrong?”

“Peter-,” Tony gestured to his son, scowling. “Has received a three day suspension from school.”

Peter was crying, hugging his backpack. He didn’t attempt to deny it.

“What happened?” Bruce hurried towards his nephew, instinctively wanting to comfort him.

“Don’t.” Tony stuck out an arm, stopping Bruce. “Peter, go to your room. Give me that-,” He took the backpack. “-don’t complain, you are allowed to read and sleep. If you touch a single one of your toys, Jarvis will tell me. Go.”

Peter scampered off, sobbing.

“Tony…” Bruce soothed, attempting to calm him.

Tony held up a hand, dumping the backpack and heading towards the liquor cabinet. “He beat some kid up, Bruce. He’s grounded till further notice.”

“He hurt someone?” Bruce questioned, surprised.

“He used his powers.” Tony spat, reaching for a bottle.

Bruce passed him an empty glass, a habit most of the team had picked up from Steve. It was the captains way of keeping his husbands alcohol consumption down. It kept Tony from finishing the entire bottle. Usually.

“He got in a fight with some kid. The teachers aren’t sure who hit first, but Peter definitely hit hardest. He broke the kids nose.”

“Oh.” Bruce did his best not to visibly sigh with relief. He had imagined much worse.

Tony made no sign he had heard him. “Then he panicked. He ran away from the teachers. He climbed to the roof. I was called to get my own damn son of the roof of the school.”

Bruce made no effort to calm him.

“Where’s Peter?”

Neither of them had heard Steve enter the room. 

“Upstairs in his room.” Bruce supplied.

“Jarvis filled me in.” Steve explained. “Tony-,”

Tony turned to Steve, scowling. “Why the hell did you teach a nine year old how to fight?”

Steve flushed. “You were all for teaching him how to fire a repulsar!”

“Do you know-,” Tony slammed his glass down. “How humiliating it is to have to get your own son to stop acting like an idiot and get off the roof? With hundreds of little kids watching and laughing. Just imagine it!”

“You know who you remind me of sometimes?” Steve asked, glaring back at Tony. “Your Dad. Howard. You’re embarrassed of Peter? Is that-,”

Steve ducked just in time, the glass shattered on the wall behind him, spraying whiskey everywhere. Tony was already half way to the workshop, muttering curse words under his breath.

Steve watched him go, looking shocked. Bruce did his best not to look at either of them as he hurried upstairs.

***

Peter heard the shouting, and then a smashing sound. He pulled his comforter closer to him, sobbing into it’s comforting warmth.

“Petey?”

Uncle Bruce was standing at the door.

“I’m sorry!” Peter wailed, hugging the blanket. “I’m sorry!”

He felt his uncle sit beside him on the bed, and a soft hand rubbing his back.

“Sorry about hurting that kid?”

Peter nodded into his comforter. Bruce scooped him onto his lap.

“I’m sorry too. For hitting you, and for not apologizing earlier.”

Peter hugged his neck. “S’okay. It was an accident.”

“Yeah. Thank you.” He kissed Peter’s brown curls.

“What happened downstairs?” Peter asked, sounding scared.

“Your fathers were fighting, and your Dad got so mad he threw his glass.”

“Oh.” Peter’s shoulders began to shake with fresh sobs. “I didn’t mean to hurt Blair, I really didn’t!”

“Is that the boy you hit on the playground?” Bruce asked, hugging Peter comfortingly. Peter nodded.

“I had a bad day.” He mumbled.

“I know.” Bruce soothed. “I get those too. We all do.”

“He’s going to hate me forever.” Peter muttered, using his sleeve to dry his face. 

Bruce thought for a moment. “Well, you both have three days to calm down. When you get back to school, you can give him an apology,and maybe a get better soon card. He’ll forgive you.”

“Daddy hates me now.” Peter mumbled. “And now he and Poppa are fighting ‘cause of me.”

“Your daddies love each other. They just need to calm down. And they both love you, Peter. And I love you.”

Peter began to cry gently, and Bruce made no effort to stop him, but hugged him close.

“I love you too.” He whispered, when he was all cried out.

“I know.” Bruce took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know you get upset when you aren't allowed to go on patrol.”

“I just…” Peter curled his hands into fists. “I get so mad! I can help people, I have my powers! But I’m not allowed to use them!”

“I know how you feel.” Bruce agreed with a sigh. “I have ‘powers’, but I usually end up hurting as many people as I help.”

“But you’re a hero! At least you’re doing something with them!” Peter half-shouted, suddenly mad. “I can’t do anything! I’m just a kid!”

“That’s not true.” Bruce took his hands, and held them in his own. “You can practice them in the gym, with your dads.”

“It’s not the same. I’m not helping.” Peter sighed, staring at Bruce’s hand, wrapped around his own.

“But it’s better you do that then hurt people.” Bruce explained, remembering what Tony had said. “You have the power to hurt, you also have the power to help.”

Peter nodded silently, then looked up. “Thank you, Uncle Bruce.”

Bruce squeezed his hands. “No problem, kiddo.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment, I love to read them :)


End file.
